Eve made her way upstairs, inside her room. After setting her bag down, she decided to change into something more comfortable, something that belonged to this place rather than the life she had just left behind. She picked out her favorite pair of pajamas—soft, worn, and comforting, like a second skin.
Once changed, she felt a little lighter. She sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, letting the peaceful silence of the house wrap around her before she remembered the small gift she had brought for Mr. Hargrove.
Reaching into her suitcase, she pulled out a neatly wrapped box—a bottle of aged whiskey from a distillery her grandmother had often praised. It felt fitting, a small token of her gratitude for the man who had cared for her family's land with such devotion.
Eve headed back downstairs and she found Mr. Hargrove near the kitchen, tending to some small chore. His eyes lit up when he saw her approach.
"Miss Eve," he greeted warmly. "Settling in alright?"
"Yes, I am," Eve smiled, holding out the gift. "I brought something for you. It's a little thank-you for everything you've done."
Mr. Hargrove looked genuinely touched, his weathered hands accepting the box carefully. He opened it, and when he saw the bottle, his eyes twinkled with recognition.
"Well, I'll be damned, Miss Eve. This is the good stuff," he chuckled. "Your grandmother used to talk about this whiskey like it was liquid gold. Thank you, truly. I'll be sure to savor it."
Eve smiled. "It's the least I could do. You've taken such good care of the place… and of me, in a way."
Mr. Hargrove shook his head humbly. "Just doin' my job, Miss Eve. This land, this house—it's more than just a property to me. Your grandmother made it feel like a home for everyone, not just family."
Then, as if by an unspoken invitation, they wandered outside to the garden. The late afternoon sun cast a warm glow over the garden's familiar paths, illuminating the rows of flowers and herbs that Eve and her grandmother had once tended to.
As they strolled through the garden, her eyes roamed over the vibrant patches of daisies, marigolds, and lavender. The small, organized chaos of the garden made her heart swell with a kind of nostalgia she hadn't allowed herself to feel in years.
Every step seemed to echo with memories—of her younger self, crouching beside her grandmother, hands buried in the dirt as they worked. It had been their special time, those quiet afternoons spent nurturing the earth and watching it bloom in return.
Eve sighed softly. "This place hasn't changed much, has it? The garden still looks the same…"
Mr. Hargrove smiled fondly. "Your granny loved this garden. Wouldn't let me touch it without her supervision," he chuckled. "I remember you two out here every summer, knee-deep in the soil. She used to say it was the only way to keep the world right—taking care of the earth."
Her chest tightened. She could almost hear her grandmother's voice in her mind, soft but firm, as she gave instructions on which flowers needed pruning or which herbs to plant for the coming season. It felt like her grandmother was still here, in the rustling of the leaves and the scent of blooming lavender.
"I miss her," Eve admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "Coming back here… it feels like she's still with me, but in a different way. Like the land remembers her too."
Mr. Hargrove nodded. "She's everywhere, Miss Eve. In the trees, the wind, the flowers. Places like this—they don't forget the people who loved them."
They continued walking, the garden opening up into a view of the wide countryside, stretching out as far as the eye could see. The hills were just as green and lush as Eve remembered, rolling gently in the distance. There was a simplicity here, an untouched beauty that was so different from the bustling city life she had left behind.
"Living here… it's a blessing, isn't it?" Eve murmured, her eyes sweeping over the landscape. "I never really appreciated it enough when I was younger. I was always in such a hurry to leave, to chase something bigger. Now… now, I realize how lucky I was to grow up in a place like this."
Mr. Hargrove glanced at her, a knowing smile on his face. "Your grandmother used to say the same thing. She always knew you'd go off and do great things, but she also knew you'd come back one day. She said, 'Eve's heart belongs to these hills, even if she doesn't know it yet.'"
Eve chuckled softly, the sound tinged with emotion. "She always was wiser than I gave her credit for."
They stopped by the small patch of roses her grandmother had planted herself. The flowers were in full bloom, their deep red petals velvety and perfect.
Eve crouched down, gently running her fingers over one of the blossoms, the scent filling her senses. It was as if she could feel her grandmother's presence all around her, watching over her with the same quiet strength she had shown in life.
For a moment, Eve closed her eyes and let the memories flood back—the laughter, the warmth, the love that had filled these grounds.
The loss of her grandmother still hurt, but standing here now, Eve realized that the pain was a part of her love, a part of her connection to this place and the woman who had shaped so much of her life.
"I think I needed this," Eve said quietly, more to herself than to Mr. Hargrove. "Being here… it reminds me of who I was before everything got so complicated. Before the city, before the marriage… it feels like I can breathe again."
Mr. Hargrove's voice was soft. "Sometimes, all we need is to come back to where we started."
Eve stood, her gaze once again sweeping over the countryside. For the first time in a long while, she felt a sense of peace. Not the fleeting kind, but the kind that settles deep in your bones, the kind that makes you feel whole. The kind that tells you that you are exactly where you need to be.
She smiled, the weight of the world easing from her shoulders as she whispered, "It's good to be home."